Finding Master Right

His frame filled the doorway, making him look like he was there to conquer the salon and enslave its women. Under his fitted shirt, muscles bulged. From this distance, she couldn’t make out his facial features but his body was enough to either scare her or send her libido into overdrive. Sometimes the line between the two blurred.

The appointment book showed his name and phone number. Ambrose Langly. Interesting name. Not common around here. It sounded foreign and exotic. Almost too dignified for the thuggish guy making his way to the desk.

Ugh. If he was another one of the university snobs, she’d pass him off to Willow after this appointment. But even from a distance, he didn’t look like he belonged in a university. Maybe a WWF wrestling ring. Or prison.

Shaking off a shiver of fear, she put on her best cheerful expression, reminding herself that appointments meant money. Then she walked out to meet him. Mama needs a new pair of fuck-me boots.

“Ambrose?”

His forehead creased when he caught sight of her. “Yes.”

“Hi! I’m Everly.” She stuck out her hand, noticing the purple polish was chipping. It matched the streaks in her hair. She made a mental note to touch it up later.

Ambrose took her hand and politely shook it, but frowned. “Nice to meet you.” He peered around the salon briefly then sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Okay then. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person either. “Sure. Come on back.” She waved him to her station and he followed. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m a groomsman in a wedding,” he mumbled behind her. “The bride will kill me if I don’t look presentable.” He almost sounded sulky.

She chuckled, then gestured to her chair. He sunk into it, dwarfing the standard hairdressing chair.

Standing behind him, she hit the foot pedal and brought the chair down so she could actually reach his head. “What is it about weddings that make people so crazy?”

“I have no idea. The groom, who’s my best friend, has even started his own Pinterest account. It’s like I don’t even know him anymore.”

She swung the cape around his neck. “I’m guessing you don’t want your favorite sports team logo shaved into the back then?”

He laughed. “No. Not my style anyway. Just trim it up. Nice and neat.”

The man had a beautiful head. What would it look like if he grew his hair out long? Even at the short length, she could tell it was a light shade of blond, which matched his light complexion. Combined with his size, she wondered if he had Viking heritage. She chuckled inwardly, picturing him sweaty, holding a sword, an army behind him ready to obey his commands. Vikings would make good Doms. And this guy looked like he could give a mean Dom-eye.

Good Lord. Since when did clients make her imagination run so wild? The combination of not getting laid in a while, ovulating, and her biological clock ticking shot her sex drive through the roof. Maybe she’d hit the dungeon tonight and see if she could find a play partner. It’d been a while—there might be fresh meat she hadn’t scared off yet.

After plugging in her clippers, she made her way back behind him. “So do you have to wear a tux and everything?” By the casual look of his jeans and T-shirt, and the roman numerals tattooed on his thickly muscled forearms, he didn’t seem like the type who liked to dress up.

“Yup.”

“I’ll bet you clean up nice.”

His answering smile was sinful.

Her cheeks heated. Why had she said that? Flirting with certain customers was normal, and brought better tips, but flirting with this guy seemed . . . dangerous. “I mean, you don’t seem like the suit and tie type.” She paused to readjust the clippers. “It’s all good. Rich people are stuck-up, entitled assholes.”

He opened his mouth then shut it and nodded stiffly. “Yeah. I’ve met my share of those.”

Smiling, she turned the clippers on and started his haircut. Since he probably couldn’t hear her over the noise, they fell into silence as she worked. A while later, she stopped then turned the chair toward the mirror.

“What do you think about the length? Is it short enough?”

He barely glanced at it before he said, “It’s fine. I trust you to make me look good.”

As if he needed her help with that. But his brush-off gave her pause. “I know you don’t care as much but what would the bride think?”

His brows rose and he gave a longer look. “As long as it’s even, I think she’ll be happy.” He shifted in his seat as if ready to dash for the door.

“Hold up there, cowboy. Not done yet. I still have to even out the front and sides.” She switched to the smaller clippers then circled around to his front. “Stay still and—”

“What’s this?” With a smirk, he pointed to the small tattoo she hid under a thick bangle bracelet. “You’re a kinkster?”

So he knew the symbol. Most people thought the tattoo was just a pretty filigree design, which was how she’d pla

“None of your business.”

“Relax,” he said quietly, interest in his eyes. “I am too. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

She flipped her hair. “I’m not. You just caught me off guard.”

An awkward silence hovered over them. She wasn’t in the habit of apologizing or acting ashamed for who she was, but some people didn’t understand BDSM. They thought it was about abuse or sexual perversion—not about emotional co

“Are you in the scene around here?” Ambrose said, breaking the tension.

“A little.” She was glad the salon was empty. Having this conversation all hushed in front of nosy coworkers would have spelled trouble. People got fired for less. “I go to The Catacombs once in a while. You?”

“I haven’t gone in a long time. I don’t remember seeing you.”

“I’m not very memorable.” She chuckled like it was a joke but it fell flat. Maybe because there was truth there.

“No.” He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her face. “I would’ve remembered you.”

She squirmed under his gaze. He was definitely a Dom. Was he single? Could he handle her? If it was just about size, he could definitely manhandle her plus-size figure easily, but did he have the mental stamina to keep up with her? Most Doms didn’t like brats, but tough shit because that’s who she was and she’d sworn back when she broke things off with Scott she’d never change for a man. Or a woman. Doms included.

Trying to ignore him and do her job, she turned on the small clippers and leaned down to even out the front of his hair on his forehead. The buzz was quiet enough to talk now but she wasn’t sure what to say. This whole conversation, here at work, was throwing her off her game. Kink talk happened in the bedroom or the club, not in the salon.

“Do you know Ba

When his head wobbled, she held it still with her free hand.

He kept talking anyway. “He used to play there. Before he settled down with his Kate. That’s who’s getting married the day after tomorrow.”

“No.” She finished the front then moved to the side to work around his ears.

“What about Konstantin?”

That rang a bell. Images popped up of a playboy with dark eyes, a Russian accent, and a girl under each arm. She chuckled. “I’ve heard of him.”

He smiled. “He’s my other best friend.”

“Cool. So we must travel in the same circles. Weird we’ve never met.”

“Yeah. Weird.”

How could she ask if he was single without sounding desperate? Rejection stung like a bitch and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with that this early in the morning.

“So who are you bringing to the wedding? Do you have a . . . sub?” Fuck. She could’ve kicked herself. Way to not sound desperate.

“No. I’m single at the moment.”

“Me too.” Fuck again! Why had she said that? It wasn’t like he’d asked. God, she was being so lame right now. This guy was messing with her head. She was usually smoother than this.